Tiraspol

We woke up fairly early and headed to the bus station to catch a minibus to Tiraspol. Lonely Planet is wrong. They say that there are six mini-busses a day. More like sixty! They’re constantly coming and going. As soon as one is full, it leaves, only to be replaced by the next one.

Tiraspol is the capital of a country that doesn’t exist. Transniestr is a breakaway region of Moldova with a Russian majority who still claim allegiance to the USSR. There was a civil war in 1992 where 500 people died. Today, most of the population is elderly and 80% live below the poverty line. They have their own currency, their own stamps, their own cell phone networks and military. They are not recognised by Moldova or any other country. Hence, it’s the perfect place to visit.

The drive was uneventful. When we got to the border, all non-Transniestrians had to get off. Since Melissa, Jason and I were the only non-Moldovans, we had to go to customs control.
We walked into this dirty little building. Everything was in Russian. Two customs controllers grabbed Jason and took him into the "Inquisition Room" as I liked to call it. We heard some muffled Russian and then heard Jason squeak out "Tourist! Tourist!" Five minutes later the door opened and Melissa and I were allowed to come in. Luckily, she speaks some Russian so we were at least able to communicate. The agents were trying hard to be gruff and mean but we could tell they were laughing inside and I saw one even crack a smile a few times. I don’t think they see many Canadians and Americans in their tiny (non-existent) country!

Their outfits were covered in hammers and sickles. Well, they were wearing typical olive green "military suits" but they had hammer and sickle badges, pins and crests. Interesting…

Once they were satisfied that we were not political prisoners or drug/arms dealers, they gave us a small piece of paper and told us to go to the border control. We paid a visa fee (*cough* entrance fee *cough*) and then walked back on the bus.

We got dropped off in front of the Kvint Brandy factory, a building of "national importance" featured on their five lei bill.

I was surprised at how quiet the city was. How normal. How…depressive. As clichéd as this sounds, it reminded me of those pictures you see of Chernobyl city after the blast. Everything is calm and normal, but eerie. That’s how I felt about Tiraspol.

We walked through a park. Boys were playing with a soccer ball. The place looked so orderly in a disorderly fashion. The main pathway was in concrete, cut in geometric patterns. However, other pathways were cracked and potholed. The grass was overgrown with weeds. It made me think to Victoria Park in my hometown before the gardeners are hired for the year. Houses lined the streets around it: falling down apartments with curtains made out of bedsheets. A young boy roller-skated down the street while his mother sat on a bench and watched him.
We headed down to the main drag to get some money changed. Nobody had any money! I’ve been told that they love all forms of hard currency, taking even Moldovan lei and Ukrainian hraina! Finally, we found a place and got our all-important money.

The coins all feature hammers and sickles. We got a mixture of new and old bills. The old bills were crisp and new while the new bills were filthy. Yeah, I don’t understand why either. They also had a white spot for a water mark. When we held the money up to the light, we saw…nothing. A white spot. No water mark. Hah! Crazy Transniestrians!

We spent the afternoon waking around town. I took some pictures of telephones for 2600 Magazine. They were all direct dial except for one rotary phone. I couldn’t figure out where they put the money in. We saw a wedding going on. Life goes on in Transniestr. The groom smiled at me and I took a picture of him and his wife.

The city is FULL of Communist symbology. Hammers and sickles adorn almost all public buildings. Pictures of prominent local Communists and veterans are hung up with pride. Many buildings have signs on them saying "Bread", something which I’m told is still common in Russia. Not "bakery" or "patisserie" but "BREAD".

We decided to get some food. I settled on a meat turnover and a potato turnover. The potato one wasn’t bad, sort of like a bland samosa. The meat was probably the worst grade meat I’ve ever eaten. Later, I got an ice cream cone that was surprisingly good, packaging not withstanding. Jason bought some fried meat concoction from a street vendor that he said was tasty.

There was a Russian market with old women selling everything from old books, shoes and electronic equipment. No tacky souvenirs. No souvenirs anywhere. Not even a postcard. I guess the scenery was enough: communist murals, Lenin statues and a giant billboard featuring two smiling girls in front of the Dniestr river saying "we love our city!" Oh, and another billboard showing Transniestr and all the fun things to do in the country.

When Melissa and Jason went to check out the river, I went to the heroes cemetery, honouring those who died in the revolution. Most were only 20 years old. Some of the graves were covered in flowers. Others were bare. They were all made out of black marble with the victim’s portrait carved on it. The presidential palace was in the background and a prominently displayed tank in the foreground. A young mother took pictures of her daughter giving a military salute in front of the tank.

I didn’t know what to think. These young boys died for something that isn’t even recognised today. People just didn’t seem happy in Tiraspol. It was overcast, but life goes on. Teenage girls giggled in Russian on the bridge. Men spat out sunflower seeds. Shops sold knock-off Russian merchandise. It was a real city, in a non-real real country. I didn’t feel like being in Moldova anymore and Melissa said it was just like being in Russia again.

Some things were creepy. I saw a statue of a chef by a knock-off McDonald’s. He still scares me, although I regret not getting a picture of myself with him. He would make a great addition to a haunted house.

Driving back, we drove through Bendery, an equally depressing city if not more so. A major military instalment is stationed there. We didn’t get off the bus.

Back in Chisinau, we went out to dinner at one of the most delicious restaurants I’ve eaten at since coming to the Balkans. I got saffron chicken soup and some other dish, whose name I can’t remember as the waiter forgot to bring it to me!

We decided to invite Alex out again because we enjoyed being with him so much. I guilted the waiter into letting us use the phone, as he forgot my food. He agreed. Unfortunately, the phone card ran out, so I dragged Melissa and Jason around Chisinau searching for a phone.

I found a phone centre. Apparently, you pay first and then talk. I paid for eight minutes of local talk time, but I didn’t understand this at first. Finally, the lady at the counter said in the most Russian accent I’ve ever heard "Give me your money", except it sounded like "Geeeve meee yor moonay". I handed over 2 lei.

I called Alex and invited him out again with us. He didn’t have any money but we assured him that we would buy his drinks. Alcohol in Moldova is dirt-cheap so we had no problems paying for it! When we met, he was embarrassed that we would buy him drinks. He said that as a Russian, he had problems accepting that. I told him that in North America, it’s common to buy each other drinks, and he was outnumbered 3:1, so we would buy him drinks. I said that if we were ever back in Moldova, he could repay the favour. I didn’t mention that with beer under a dollar, it was a lot easier on our pockets than his. We also did some vodka shots, which was very appropriate.

We talked late into the night. The vodka was great and it was a great evening. Alex is studying information technology but really wants to be a jazz guitarist. We talked a lot about music, stereotypes and life in general. Great great guy!